


seek release

by lieyuu



Series: a softer world [ i ship dream smp and happiness ] [2]
Category: Dream SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Grayson | Purpled (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Post-2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Pre-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Ugh, how do tags work, more dream asks for advice fic but a little earlier in the timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieyuu/pseuds/lieyuu
Summary: [ i’d like to read a story in the newspaper that ends with, “but she was just having a bad dream. really, she’s okay." ]Dream isn’t the only god around these parts. Sometimes it feels like he is, but that may just be the way the wind blusters and roars around him and no one else, the way the earth responds to him and him alone. These are not things that came with godhood; these are things that came with being born of this land.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream & Grayson | Purpled (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: a softer world [ i ship dream smp and happiness ] [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042497
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136





	seek release

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [this strip](https://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=44).
> 
> this was not a fic i was planning on writing but then i read purpled's wikia page and like hmmmm,,, the potential for narrative parallels,,,, strong! i like to think him as a sort of counterpart to dream in this series - a god who chose to be a god who is not going fucking crazy dkjfjkfdkkdk. listen. he is just. extremely good at minecraft. and like. go read his wikia page i swear i'm not insane plEASE-
> 
> timeline wise: this is set in between tommy and wilbur's exile and the manburg-pogtopia war, but just Barely. dream has been a god for,,,, a few years at this point. ugh. timeliens.
> 
> also if you have tag ideas please share them i'm so stupid literally nothing happens in this fic besides Intensive Conversation

Dream isn’t the only god around these parts. Sometimes it feels like he is, but that may just be the way the wind blusters and roars around him and no one else, the way the earth responds to him and him alone. These are not things that came with godhood; these are things that came with being born of this land. 

Other gods of other places have taken up residence here. The stone doesn’t crackle beneath their feet, but Dream can see it in the way they carry themselves, the connection he feels like a fishing hook in his gut. They pass each other on the street, and the air glistens and pops - they share a glance, and then proceed with their day.

“If I’m  _ young god,  _ you’re practically prepubescent,” Dream calls, hands in pockets, as he approaches the kneeling boy. He snickers, rises from his position - of petting a dog, Dream sees now - and turns.

“You’re not that much older than me, big man,” Purpled says, sticking his hands in his jean pockets and shrugging. “And I like to think I’ve been doing this god business for longer.” 

“You’re only seventeen,” Dream says, then pauses. He isn’t sure, actually. Purpled had been seventeen the last time they spoke, but the days and faces blur together, and he can’t remember how long ago it was. This knowledge is unsettling, and Purpled looks at him like he’s laughing, like he knows. “Either way, you’re still a child to me.”

“Ugh,  _ children _ ,” Purpled mutters, then clicks his tongue. The dog approaches him obediently, standing like a soldier by his side. “You just come to make fun of me for not speeding up time and aging quicker, or did you need something?”

“Walk with me,” Dream says, gesturing towards the wooden path. Purpled eyes him for a moment, then shrugs in a  _ why not?  _ manner. He steps onto the path, and waits for Dream to join him.

“So, young god,” Purpled teases once they’re a bit down the path. His netherite sword has been sheathed at his side the whole way, yet Dream can’t help but notice the way he keeps a hand on its hilt. “How’s it been treating you? You having fun yet?”

“No,” Dream says. “I didn’t want this. So I suppose I’ve been having some trouble reconciling it with myself.”

Purpled squints at him - his eyes don’t glow, but it’s a near thing. “Have you come to me for advice?” he asks. “Is that what this is?”

Dream snorts as they pass Tommy’s house, and fights back an instinctive response to go in and destroy it. “If I wanted advice, I’d go to Technoblade,” he says, swinging his arms. “At least he’s not seventeen.”

“Fuck off,” Purpled says, the edge to his tone just too pronounced for it to be taken as lighthearted. The dog begins growling, lowly - it stops when its master puts a hand on its head. “I suppose you  _ are  _ in a pretty unique position. Just summon yourself up some party material and go wild. The ache will ease soon - it’s a little like Cousin Antithesis of postpartum depression.”

Dream frowns, elects to ignore the entire metaphor, and runs a hand over the top of the bushes they’re passing. The leaves strain towards him, and he can feel hairline cracks form on the stone of his skin from where their edges catch. “It’s not an ache,” he says, hesitant. “It’s burning.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy,” Purpled comments. He stops at the edge of the path and looks off towards a lake, rather dramatically. “Maybe you  _ should  _ go talk to Technoblade. He knows a little something about organ rejection, or whatever. Or one of those other young gods - demi-gods. They’re becoming.”

“What are you talking about,” Dream asks flatly, staring at him staring at the lake. Purpled turns towards him as if startled, eyes wide, then shrugs.

“Gods become every day,” he says. “Only some are like you and me, who chose this life - oh, don’t look at me like that. You said you didn’t want it, but you did choose it. There’s plenty in the area, all you have to do is learn how to look.” 

Dream squints at him and shakes his head. “No need to be so cryptic,” he mutters, and turns to leave. “Have a good rest of your day, then, or whatever it was you were doing.”

“Moving!” Purpled says brightly, gesturing out towards the other side of the lake, where a few chests have popped up. “Just outside of Manberg. Not so sure this is the place for me.”

Dream narrows his eyes at him. He doesn’t know what it is, but an ugly feeling rises in his chest at the words  _ Manberg,  _ a feeling of intruder and burglar and not right, not right,  _ not right.  _ A crack opens in the ground besides them, and Purpled looks down at it and laughs, high-pitched.

“Calm down there,” he says, bending down to roll up the cuffs of his jeans. “I live just across that lake. Keep my view nice, won’t you?”

Dream takes in a strained breath, and flowers sprout up along the edges of the crack. “Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. “I - it’s good. That you’re leaving Manberg. I don’t think it’s the place for you either.”

He doesn’t know what he means by it; “this town ain’t big enough for the both of us” or “I’m glad they don’t have you on their side” or “you could easily be a threat and it’s good you’re choosing not to be”. Purpled laughs like he does, and wades away into the lake.

-

Dream bitches and moans and drags his feet the whole way, but he does go to see Technoblade, in the end. Something about the other man unsettles him; to be fair, even just looking at him, anyone is hard-pressed to find something that  _ isn’t  _ unsettling.

“Techno,” Dream calls, hopping down from the tree branch as he sees him pass beneath. Technoblade looks at him blankly, one eyebrow slightly raised.

“Hello, Dream,” he says with a puff of air that could be a sigh. “Why are you here?”

Dream opens his mouth to say  _ I wanted to ask you about being a god,  _ but the words die in his throat as he looks at Technoblade, and Technoblade looks at him. There’s silence for a beat, two - then the man shakes his head and says, “If that’s all, I have a trident to go enchant.”

“I didn’t even ask my question,” Dream says, falling into step besides him.

“Exactly.” Technoblade’s cloak catches on a bush and Dream watches, fascinated, as he simply moves on and tugs it off of the branches through what appears to be sheer force of will. “If you aren’t asking it, clearly it’s not that important.” 

“Ouch,” Dream says. “Harsh.” 

They stop at a nondescript tree, and Technoblade turns to him with a sigh. “Well, I’m not taking you to my base,” he says, drily. “So let’s have our conversation right here. What is it, Dream?”

“I could find your base if I wanted,” Dream says, electing to ignore the pinpricks of discomfort crawling up his back. The grass rolls beneath his feet, as if ready to reveal to him the locations of the secret homes carved within itself.

“Sure,” Technoblade says passively. “But you’re not going to.”

The grass smooths and settles. “No, I’m not,” Dream agrees. Then, “I wanted to ask you about being a god.”

Technoblade stares at him for a moment. “Uh, Dream,” he starts, “Zero offense, but I think you need to go have a talk with whoever it is that told you I would be the person to ask about that.”

“Your face told me,” Dream snaps, irritated. “I - no, that’s not what I meant, at all. Ugh. Don’t try and talk your way out of this. I know you’ve been one, for at least a small period of time.”

“If by small,” Technoblade says, leaning back against the tree and crossing his arms, “you mean about twenty-five minutes. Yes, I was almost one.”

“Why aren’t you one now?”

“I’m just too cool,” Technoblade deadpans, shrugging. Then he straightens up off the tree and looks Dream in the eye, finally serious. “Godhood didn’t agree with me. They all expect so many things of you. I like being able to do what I please.”

“So, what,” Dream snorts, “it just didn’t stick? I don’t think it’s a slap toy you can move as you please.”

“No,” Technoblade agrees. “But if it truly isn’t for you, you’ll know. Put it like this, Dream. There is a god of all good things. All good things, give or take a few. Seafoam at dawn just doesn’t shine the way it used to.”

Dream falls silent, stays silent. The implications are strong, and obvious. The blood roars in his ears - it wants to be heard, it wants to be spilled. It doesn’t care whose. Even gods can bleed.

“Let me guess,” says Technoblade, the man who has killed gods, soft like he can afford to be. “It’s burning you alive.”

“It was like that for me, too,” he adds after a moment of silence. He raises an eyebrow at Dream. “But I imagine much worse. See, I think being a god suits you just fine.  _ You  _ just haven’t managed to see that yet.”

“I think I’m fine,” Dream protests. It’s become near second nature at this point, to turn his hand as the flowers grow from nothing in his palm. “I’m settled. I’m happy, perfectly content.”

“No, you aren’t,” Technoblade says. He narrows his eyes. “You’re shaken. Why are you shaken? You chose this life for yourself; you did, or they wouldn’t call you  _ young god. _ ”

A pause. “That’s just it,” Dream says, quietly, in a rush of words. “I don’t think anyone calls me by my name anymore. I don’t think anyone cares to remember me for who I am, and not what I’ve become.”

Of course, this isn’t entirely true. People do address him by name - but the weight of it on their tongue is different, heavy like it’s wearing cloaks sewn from velvet and gold. There is Dream, the young god, the magician, and no one else.

“Dramatic,” Technoblade comments wryly. “But fair. How about this - you ever need a breather, you come to this tree, and I’ll call you stupid names until you forget you were ever a god. Like Clay. That’s a stupid name.” 

Dream scoffs lightly and rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Techno,” he says, and turns to leave.

“Dream,” Technoblade says. The name is simple in his mouth - barely even a name, a word that hardly carries any meaning. It’s refreshing, and the only reason it makes Dream pause. “Don’t lose sight of yourself.”

“I won’t,” he assures, and leaves the forest. Technoblade stares after him the whole way, and he can feel the burning gaze like an accusation of  _ liar, liar, liar.  _

-

_ You chose this life for yourself. _

_ You said you didn’t want it, but you did choose it. _

It’s better to just own your mistakes while you’ve made them. It’s easier to let the fires be all-consuming. So Dream fights in meaningless wars for territory that will all be his in the end. He supplies both sides, leads one to the other when its weak. Demands exile, dances on the knife’s edge of declaring more war.

Sometimes, when he sits and thinks, he can remember a wry voice saying  _ keep my view nice, won’t you?  _ and a weary older brother saying  _ don’t lose sight of yourself. _

He still can’t remember how old Purpled is. 

It doesn’t seem to matter very much at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to clarify purpled is not in fact seventeen - uhh given the incredibly vague timeline i'm working with i'd say maybe nineteen-ish? twenty?
> 
> stay safe everyone; comments + kudos much appreciated!


End file.
